


How Did We Get So Dark?

by vicewithavice



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst, Dirk's Misogyny, Extremely shitty boys, Infidelity (on OFC), M/M, Pre-Epilogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-11 21:43:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19550533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vicewithavice/pseuds/vicewithavice
Summary: It starts like any other of Jake's parties. It ends with Dirk swearing he'll never set foot in Jake's house again.





	How Did We Get So Dark?

It starts the way it always has: a party at Jake’s house thrown for some contrived reason. The opening of a new wing in the mansion that will inevitably be the dumping ground of taxidermied beasts and spare robot parts. The launch of SkaiaNet and every following subsidiary company. The pilot of Jake’s first TV program, then the second and third, each distributed on a network owned by Jake himself. As their god-like influence permeates Earth C, their successes are less of an accomplishment achieved through skill and ingenuity and more of an amuse-bouche handed to them directly on a silver platter by a prostrating butler. Over time, the excuses to host a party get flimsier, to the point where his invitations may as well just read “I’ll be Drinking Cheap Wine in My Cavernous, Unfulfilling Mansion With or Without You, Join Me So I’m Not Doing it Alone.”

The tabloids report tales of debauchery: alchemiters thrown in pools, shattered windows, acts of miracles by the gods who created this planet. They aren’t far off, though it isn’t nearly as glamorous as they make it sound. Most of the damage is done by the consorts who manage to get into the punch bowl. No matter how high they place the booze, a few of them manage to work together in an unsupervised moment to topple it onto the marble floor and lap it up, causing havoc on their tiny livers and most fragile items in the room. Almost every miracle can be attributed to Dave speeding up time so he doesn’t have to wait for his Hot Pockets to warm up, while Rose occasionally hussels unknowing carapacians at the poker table, winning thirty consecutive hands before they quit in frustration.

As hosts go, Jake is exceptionally mediocre. His best quality is that he truly does not give a shit as to what gets broken and who throws up where since he has a small army of robotic butlers and maids to tidy small messes, and has no problem quarantining rooms beyond repair. Every year or so he just builds more rooms to make up for the ones he lost, adding to the irregular, tumescent shape of his house. At his worst, Jake vacillates between busting into private conversations, ordering more drinks to anyone who doesn't match his level of stumbling intoxication, and then fucking off for hours into the recesses of his maze-like hallways to sit alone in a dark room and wonder if anyone at the party even likes him.

Despite every indication that he hates these events, including literally telling people as much at any opportunity, Dirk attends every party. If he’s feeling particularly raucous, he might nurse one glass of wine over the night and demonstrate some new choreographed combat with Jake’s battle bots. Mostly, though, he sits on the armchair he’s reserved for himself, stoically watching the festivities from behind his shades. He might look asleep, or dead, if his mouth didn’t twitch every time one of the guests said something excruciatingly inane. His mouth twitches a lot. Even Jake, with his unending reserve of pure hope powers, has stopped trying to goad Dirk into having a good time. He gave up on that a long time ago.

Dirk didn’t mind the parties so much when Jake first started throwing them. They were smaller gatherings, just the main group and various rotating significant others letting loose after months of pretending to be responsible, mentally sound young adults. As Jake’s success and bank account grew, so too did the guestlist, until Dirk could barely make out his friends through the crowd of overworked mechanical engineers and TV producers. Dirk doesn’t blame them for skipping out; there’s only so much small talk you can make with suspiciously sweaty executives too high on the latest alchemitized drug not to look women directly in the cleavage. If anyone asks why Dirk keeps showing up to these things, he would say “security” and it would be a hilariously transparent lie. Dirk has never once lifted a finger to stop anyone from stealing Jake’s trophies or crashing through a wall. In fact, on more than one occasion, Dirk has helped some drunk idiot figure out how to fit a piece of prototype SkaiaNet tech in their Sylladex.

Dirk sits on his designated chair now, sipping away at an orange soda. If he's caught for an instant without a drink in his hand, a stranger will, without fail, ask why he isn't drinking and try to force a can of disgusting beer into his grasp.

“Dirk! Hai!”

Dirk is surprised and pleased to see Roxy pushing her way through the bodies. She lands heavily on the arm of Dirk’s chair, throwing one arm around the back. Even this close her voice barely carries over the sound of chatter and music. She’s short enough that the uncharacteristically tall heels of her shoes don’t touch the ground as she sits. Her feet swing as she talks and Dirk notices the long stretch of bare leg that emerges from her very short dress.

“What are you wearing?” Dirk asks, not politely, interrupting whatever it was Roxy was saying.

“Is it too much?” Roxy looks down at her outfit, self-consciously tugging at the hem. “I’m trying something new. Like, playing with my style, you know?”

“No,” Dirk answers. The apex of his style quandaries lands solely on whether he’s going to wear a t-shirt or a tank for the day, and all of them will end up some sort of grease stain or tear before long. Like the shirt he’s wearing now, which he couldn’t be bothered to change out of before arriving. Not that Dirk doesn’t care about style, he’s a bit too committed to his meticulously curated shades-and-hair look to pretend otherwise, but he’s never been swept up in the vicissitude that plagues others with insecurity over their self-expression. He’s got the concept of “Dirk” locked the fuck down.

“Well, I don’t think it’s for me. I mean, I know I look fucking bomb, but these heels are an ankle fucker, dude. I feel like a baby giraffe, all shakey ‘n wobbly ‘n shit. One wrong move and BAM!” Roxy accents this with a clap. “Gonna tumble down Jake’s marble staircase.”

“I presume you’ve taken note of the appropriate warnings vis à vis stairs?” Dirk points to the literal warning signs posted at the top of the staircase in Dave’s characteristically awful quality. Dirk’s not sure if Jake even knows they’re there or if he’s decided to leave them be—it’s not like there’s any cohesion to the decor that the signs clash with.

“Don’t even worry. Fidrah lets me clutch her arm like a lost infant when we hit the stairs and I’m holding on TIGHT. Girl has guns let me tell ya.”

“Who?”

“Fidrah,” Roxy repeats, like if she says it again Dirk will clue in. When he doesn’t magically figure out who she’s talking about, Roxy slumps a little bit and busies herself by picking at her nail polish, avoiding eye-contact with him. “I thought Jake would have mentioned… they’ve been together a while now. Well, a while for Jake which is like no time for anyone else. Even Jade’s relationships last longer than five minutes. It’s been maybe two months now… getting p serious.”

“Oh.” Dirk fights down the stirring feeling of… something brewing deep in his stomach. He’s over Jake. He’s been over Jake for nearly a year after they broke up again, this time for good. They’re almost something resembling friends, although friends with benefits might be more accurate. In the brief lapses between Jake’s partners, they find each other on nights just like these. At the end of the party, when the skirt Jake’s been chasing passes out in the bathtub, Dirk always seems to be perfectly positioned to serve as a proxy.

“She’s around here somewhere, you can’t miss her,” Roxy continues, scanning the crowd while Dirk does his best to forget ever having heard this girl’s name or anything about her. “I think you two would really get along. She’s so funny, she’s got this wicked sense of humor. And oh em gee what a babe.”

“She sounds too good for him,” Dirk says. His dry tone must sound sardonic to Roxy, who laughs.

“Oh shh, I think they’re cute. There she is!” Roxy tries waving her over, a troll with big hair and a small dress, but she has her back turned to them. Even from behind Dirk recognizes her as the star of some popular new troll show that plays on the troll kingdom network that Jake partially owns. Not that Dirk’s ever seen it, but the billboards and commercials are hard to miss.

“Do you think she’s just using him to advance her career? I mean, she starts dating the head of the network and now she’s got some new show. Pretty convenient.”

Roxy looks at him with a cocked eyebrow. “Um no I do not think that at all, actually. ‘Sides, she got the part for that show before she even met Jake.”

“I guess.” Dirk takes a sip from the bottle of orange soda he’s been holding, but he’s unconvinced. “I’m just saying, she looks like every girl Jake’s ever dated, and how’s that turned out for him? Dude can’t catch a fucking break from these broads sticking their manicured hands with their creepy, long nails into his pockets.”

Roxy sits up, putting more distance between the two of them. She’s obviously upset by what he said, but he’s just calling what he sees.

“And what, exactly, do all of Jake’s girlfriends look like to you?”

“Honestly: sluts.”

Roxy scoffs and jumps up to her feet, wobbling on her narrow heels. “Gross, Dirk. I thought you were over Jake, but you just take out your shitty boy angst on every girl he so much as glances at. You never complain about Jake’s boyfriends.”

“The guys Jake dates are too dumb to manipulate him out of his shorts, let alone any money.”

To his surprise, Roxy scoffs again, harder this time. She’s being so dramatic about this and people are looking over at her.

“So the girls Jake dates aren’t just sluts, they’re manipulative sluts.”

“Rox can you just -? Jesus christ calm down, that’s not what I meant.”

Roxy reaches over and grabs the drink out of someone’s hand, throwing the brightly coloured liquid back in one smooth motion. Dirk’s got his hand out, like he wants to stop her, but he pulls it back. Roxy’s drinking problems aren’t his to solve.

“You know, Dirk, I liked you better when you had AR stuck to your face all the time. That way I didn’t have to be the one to tell you you’re being a piece of shit, you could do it yourself.”

Dirk’s mouth forms a tight line. People have called Dirk a piece of shit before, several times honestly, and most of the time he would agree that he deserved it. But hearing it from Roxy stops him in his tracks. For a moment, Dirk thinks maybe he did take it too far. It's not like he knows a damn thing about the girls Jake fucks. Hell, maybe each and every one of them is the ectobiological offspring of Mother Theresa and the Dalai Lama.

But then Jake shows up and slides his hands around the troll girl's waist.

“Fuck off.” He’s not sure if he said it loud enough to be heard, but Roxy gets the point. She spins around and stomps off, ridiculous shoes clacking loudly as she goes.

* * *

Dirk doesn’t know what time it is when Jake emerges from wherever it was he’s been hiding into the living room. There are people strewn about haphazardly, draped over the couch, spread eagle on the floor, passed out or asleep. Jake looks over the scene and runs a hand through his hair, yawning. Carefully stepping over limbs and overturned drinks, he makes his way to the punch bowl and pours himself a drink. This brings him right next to Dirk, who greets him with a peace sign and a quiet “yo.”

Jake nearly jumps out of his shorts in surprise, and the drink lands squarely on his white shirt. “You scared the shit out of me! You sure know how to sneak up on a fella.”

“I’ve been here the whole time, dude.”

“Right. Well, still.” He observes the stain seeping through the fabric of his overpriced shirt and decides on cutting his loss. He tosses it on the ground with the rest of the garbage, then leans against the table. "Good turnout tonight, eh? Bit of a mess, but nothing the old bots can't take care of. You should get a peace prize for inventing those things, I swear they make up half of SkaiaNet's profits every year."

"There are no Nobel prizes on Earth C."

"What? Why not? There are noble people all over, we should be recognizing them, Dirk. It would be a good boost for moral around here, don't you think? It might nudge the consorts into taking a bit more initiative in their own community, not that I'd be caught criticising their simple way of life."

"Jake … did you say noble."

"Yes. The noble peace prize, awarded to those who display their nobility in their goal for peace or what have you. To be honest I'm a bit fuzzy on the particulars but surely you've heard of it."

Dirk looks at Jake slack jawed. "Incredible."

"I agree, what a missed opportunity! Where's my pen, I should jot this down." Jake slaps his pockets. Dirk has never known Jake to carry a pen on him; he's never had a solitary idea worth noting before. "Hm. I'll just have to remember for later. I'll talk to Jane about it, I'm sure CrockerCorp would love to get involved. This is just great, Dirk. See, these late-night conversations always stimulate the noggin, really grease the wheels for new endeavors."

Dirk tries not to grit his teeth as Jake goes on and on. Usually, by this point in the night they've addressed the reason Dirk is really here quite loudly in an isolated room, but for whatever reason Jake is playing coy. Or, as coy as he can be standing there shirtless. Dirk is about to move this little chat along when something Jake says registers to him.

"- told me that you and I should do a show together!"

"Wait, what?"

"That's what I said, too. Don't get me wrong, you've been a great pal and advisor but I never thought you were one for television. But it all started making sense when he talked me through it. Picture it: Jake English— entrepreneur, beloved personality, Earth C's sexiest human 4 years running, and combat specialist goes mano vs mano with Dirk Strider and his team of robots gladiator style! How does that strike you?"

It strikes Dirk as the dumbest fucking thing he's ever heard, for several reasons, which is why it'll be the single most popular show in every kingdom. They may be living in a utopia free of the social ills that plagued Earth and Alternia, but goddamn do people love themselves some violence.

"Yeah, Jake. That sounds… just super."

"Atta boy! I knew you'd get a kick out of that, I thought it seemed right up your alley. It'll be just like old times, won't it, Dirk? Scrumming, fisticuffs, yes even taking a wollop now and then from a feisty tin can." Jake puts his fists up and throws a few punches to an invisible foe, complete with sound effects. "I know we've had our ups and downs but I think we can make a great team. With your brains and my brawn, we make a force to be reckoned with! Put 'er there."

Jake holds his hand out and looks at Dirk expectantly. Dirk goes for a hesitant high-five, but Jake squeezes Dirk's hand in his and hauls him up and onto his feet.

"Steady on." Jake grasps Dirk by the shoulders and rights him before pulling him out of the living room and into the dark hallway. "I had a contract drawn up for you, we can seal the deal tonight if you're certain. It's in one of these rooms… maybe the next?.. no… argh! All these fucking rooms! You have no idea what a pain in the ass it is to find anything around here."

Eventually Jake pulls him into a room with a large desk and plush office chair and seems satisfied that this room, unlike all the identical rooms before it, is where they need to be. Dirk stands in the doorway, upright and quiet, while Jake ruffles through mounds of paperwork piled on the desk, muttering under his breath.

“Jackpot!” Jake holds up a bent and coffee-stained folio victoriously. “No pressure to sign now, of course. Look it over and get back to me, but my lawyers assured me it’s a very fair deal.”

Dirk steps deeper into the room and grabs the paperwork, flipping through it absently. His eyes barely glance over the words, he’s stuck on Jake’s goofy expression.

“What?” He asks, wary.

“This is gonna be so much fun, Dirk! I was saying just the other day that you and I need to spend more time together. Gosh, when was the last time we spent any real quality time together, just you and I? Too long, I’d wager.”

“You want to spend more time together?”

“Dirk, you’re my best friggin’ friend on this whole planet. I’ve been a real cad neglecting our friendship in the throes of a new relationship but I’m gonna set this right."

"Jake…" Dirk sets the papers and steps in close enough to feel the heat of Jake, his shaking breath. They've talked long enough, and Jake has clearly been building to this. So Dirk gives him what he wants, pushes his mouth against Jake's, picks up where they left off.

"Dirk, I-" Jake barely pulls his lips away, and Dirk silences him with another kiss.

"It's fine." Dirk takes Jake's hand and moves it to the back of his head. Jake's fingers burrow into the blond hair, but his movement is hesitant. Too gentle. "It's fine," he says again. Something in Jake clicks. All at once, he deepens the kiss, pushing so hard that Dirk is backed into the sharp corner of the desk. His free hand pins Dirk's hips in place while the other makes a tight fist in Dirk's hair.

"Ah!" Dirk calls out when Jake yanks his head to the side. Jake isn't gentle with his teeth as he works his way down Dirk's neck. "Shit, dude."

"A few bruises too much for Dirk Strider?"

"No chance." Dirk takes the few moments of banter as an opportunity to pull his shirt off, tossing it across the room. "Keep going."

* * *

“I have to say, old chum, that wasn’t what I had planned for tonight.”

Dirk slides his shades over his eyes before facing Jake. He regrets letting Jake them off, a feeling that intensifies now. Dirk squares his shoulders and breathes out heavily; preparing for conflict.

“Jake you… you took your shirt off, pulled me into this empty room, talked about us ‘sealing the deal’, and told me how much you want us to spend time together. What was I supposed to think?”

Dirk can see Jake running the night’s events through his mind, calculating the value of what he said. “Well yes, when you put it like that I suppose I can see how you thought maybe I was angling for another romp. Poor Fidrah, she’s a sweet girl and doesn’t deserve this kind of treatment. It’ll break her heart when I tell her about this momentary indiscretion, absolutely crush her.” Jake puts his head in his hands and affects the look of a tortured conscious. Dirk knows exactly what Jake is playing at here, but won’t give him the satisfaction of wiggling out of it. He remains silent as he grabs his shirt off the floor. “And there’s the show to think about, as well. Who knows how this might affect attitudes on set. Fidrah’s a professional through and through, don’t get me wrong now, but you know how fast gossip travels in this industry, and I don’t want off-set tensions getting in the way of our art. It sure would throw a wrench in things, but it’s the right thing to do.”

The force of Dirk’s eye roll could launch him into orbit, but he keeps his response contained to a non-committal grunt.

“Or is it?” Jake perks his head up. “Telling her what happened tonight, isn’t it more trouble than it’s worth? Mistakes were made, yes, but I certainly feel just awful about the whole affair and have no intentions of repeating it. What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her, eh? So what do you say, Dirk?”

Dirk breathes in sharply through his nose. He knows Jake’s whole overture has been leading to this, and the anger has been welling inside him. Jake’s going to expect an answer from Dirk, and Dirk has no idea what’s going to happen when he opens his mouth.

“Why don’t we just pretend this whole business never happened and we move forward from here.”

"You fucking coward."

Jake's hopeful expression slips off his face. "Now Dirk, I don't think-"

"You used me. Again. God, why do I never learn? I'm starting to think I'm the biggest idiot here for falling for this stupid game every fucking time. You can't go one night without validation that you're wanted and you'll take it from anyone who will give it to you, as long as you don't have to be responsible for their feelings."

Dirk pauses to slide his pants back on, then grabs the contract off the table.

"I'm never coming to one of your bullshit parties again. I'm never coming to your bullshit house again, either. Every time I'm over we end up right back here, and you toss me aside like so much garbage and then find someone else to play happy families with. Until they figure out what a pathetic, weak little man you are, and you come back to me to give you the attention you can't live without. Well, I'm over it."

Dirk storms out, letting his feet lead him to the front door. He's blinded by rage, but that's not all. Embarrassment heats up his cheeks, leaves his eyes stinging. This is hardly the first time he’s walked out of a late-night one night stand feeling as though he lost the round in their overarching game of emotional tug-o-war. As one last "fuck you," he pulls a pen from his pocket, flips to the back page of the contract, and signs his name in large sharp letters. If Jake wants to forget this night ever happened, Dirk's gonna make damn sure Jake never gets the chance.  


**Author's Note:**

> Looks like I've been swept back into Homestuck. I made a fandom twitter @themilfofspace


End file.
